


you can't take heart and soul

by endofadream



Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Barebacking, Bottom Bucky Barnes, Bucky's sassy mouth, Face-Fucking, M/M, Mild Comeplay, PWP, Praise Kink, Rough Oral Sex, Rough Sex, Top Steve Rogers, brief spanking, every time I say I'm going to write brief porn it spirals out of hand, like super mild, mild breathplay, semi D/s relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-05
Updated: 2016-12-05
Packaged: 2018-09-06 14:18:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,395
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8755867
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/endofadream/pseuds/endofadream
Summary: The way he arches is a thing of beauty: the late-afternoon light paints the wall in slanting tones of faded yellow, casting half of Bucky’s face in shadow. It highlights the arch of his cheekbones, the sculpted hollow of his cheeks. The fanned flutter of his lashes when he closes his eyes.God. Steve had almost forgotten how good Bucky sounds when he begs. Breathy, a little high-pitched. Every bit Steve’s.





	

“ _Fuck_ ,” hisses Bucky.

The wall rattles as Steve shoves him into it, crowding close and pushing Bucky’s hair off his forehead. It was a little more force than necessary, but Steve is perceptive if anything, and he’s always been attuned to Bucky.

Though Bucky hasn't said a word since they started this back up, it isn't difficult to miss how easily they’ve fallen back into their old habits. Bucky pushes Steve a little more every time, asking for it harder, for Steve to hold him down, make him feel it. Begging with words, without them. Pushing the way he used to when he wanted Steve to take charge.

Back, before, Steve wasn't able to rough Bucky up much. He had a mean strength behind his hand, but it was still wobbly and uncertain, and though Bucky was always enthusiastic Steve still felt like it was all for show, done so he wouldn’t hurt Steve’s feelings.

There was always the undercurrent of a little self-loathing, those intrusive thoughts: _guy like you can’t give Bucky what he wants; you’re too skinny, Rogers, ain’t intimidating at all; you can’t even win in a fistfight, what makes you think you can hit Bucky the way he wants to be hit?_

Every time, Steve expected it to be the last. Expected him and Bucky to go back to either just friends or sex with a little less pain involved. And every time, somehow, Bucky came back, eager on his knees, eager with his mouth. Perfect, just for Steve, the way he’s always been.

Steve bites at the cleft of Bucky’s chin. “Language,” he admonishes with a grin. He wraps a hand around Bucky’s neck, doesn’t miss how Bucky goes limp under him, head tipping back. Under his thumb Bucky’s pulse flutters; Steve strokes over it, rough stubble and warm skin and the fast-fast-fast thump of an enhanced heart rate kicked up a notch from arousal. No matter how many times they do this, it always strokes some sort of possessive pride in Steve to know that Bucky is like this because of him.

“Fuck you,” Bucky says, voice rumbling up under Steve’s thumb. “Ain’t the war no more.” It’s slurred and thick, doesn’t carry the heat the words would suggest.

He presses forward, kissing Steve the kind of open and wet way that belies his outward display of control and shows how desperate he is. More breath and tongue than lips, Bucky panting and making low noises that spiral into a quiet whine when Steve grips his hair to pull him back, then hooks his thumb in the wet corner of Bucky’s mouth. Bucky’s eyes are wide blue, unmoving from Steve’s.

“Doesn’t mean you don’t need to watch your mouth,” Steve says lightly. He runs his thumb over Bucky’s lower lip, pulling it down, and then lets his hand curl gently around Bucky’s throat again. “Language is very unbecoming of you, Buck.”

Bucky laughs, a sharp bark. He’s grinning at Steve now, all teeth, dangerous. It makes Steve’s heart pound resounding in his chest. Makes his knees go weak, his eyes to go all soft with love. Only Bucky Barnes can make such a sap out of him; only Bucky have him go from rough to tender in seconds flat. It would scare him if he hadn’t already had a lifetime to come to terms with it—and once it did, when he was just a scrawny teenager who knew what queers were and knew that normal boys didn't think about their best friends the way that he thought about Bucky, with lingering glances at lips and too many dreams that left him waking up red-faced and sticky.

“Look at this,” Bucky says, “Steve Rogers, tryna act like he didn't spew alleyway filth from his dumb Brooklyn-born-and-raised punk mouth. ‘Member that time your ma nearly whooped your ass black ’n blue for swearing in Mass?”

Steve slides his hand from Bucky’s throat down to his flesh wrist, pausing before taking it in his grip, rough, and slamming it to the wall above Bucky’s head. In return he gets a sucked-in breath, wide blue eyes slowly corroding with black. Kiss-red lips slick, the pink of Bucky’s tongue darting out to wet them. Christ. It’s sinful, the way Bucky is. Like temptation in the flesh before him, daring him to have a taste. Steve would probably risk eternal damnation just for a taste of Bucky. Hell, maybe he already has.

“I have a reputation to uphold,” Steve says, squeezing _just_ a little bit tighter. Bucky’s eyes flutter closed, a low noise welling up in his throat. Then that throat is tipping up, exposing the soft underside for Steve to bend and nip. Steve does, letting his lips scrape over the stubble there. “Can’t let you tell everyone all of my secrets, can I? And ‘sides,” he adds, “if I recall correctly, it was _your_ fault in the first place.”

Bucky kisses Steve bruising instead of answering, metal fingertips raking down the nape of Steve’s neck. Steve shivers, working a leg between Bucky’s heavy thighs and pushing up, seeking out the pressing hardness of Bucky’s cock. It works a mewl out of Bucky’s throat, like the pop of a wine cork coming loose. The wantonness of it spurs fire in Steve’s belly, his own cock twitching in his jeans.

“Fuck,” Bucky swears again when he feels it. He struggles against Steve’s hand, hips seeking forward. “Just give it to me, Steve, Jesus _Christ_.”

“Naughty little boy,” Steve murmurs, starting up a steady grind that renders Bucky little more than dead weight moaning against the wall. “So impatient when all I’ve been to you today is nice. I should spank you.”

The hand that Steve is pinning jerks forward so hard that Bucky nearly manages to dislodge it. Steve slams it back against the wall and grins, feral. Oh yes. _This_ is the reaction that he wants. “That what you want, huh, ain’t it? Want me to bend you over my fuckin’ knee and make you squeal, dontcha, Buck?”

“Did the serum enhance your goddamn mouth, too, Rogers?” Bucky gasps. His cheeks are flushed high at the apples, and Steve can already see dampness at Bucky’s temples. Bucky is so goddamn _beautiful_ like this, and Steve doesn't understand what he did to be able to have this twice.

“Nah,” Steve drawls. “That’s all me, pal.” Truth is, those were all the words he’d wanted to say before when Bucky was at his mercy, but it didn't seem right coming out of the mouth of a guy who weighed less than a hundred pounds soaking wet; it was almost laughable to imagine tiny Steve Rogers bending Bucky Barnes over his knee.

He kisses Bucky again, sucks on his tongue and bites at his lip, using every trick he knows to undo every last shred of control that Bucky has. It works, faster than Steve thought it would: Bucky’s begging in clipped vowels now, swearing in explosive fricatives _fuck me, come the_ fuck _on_ , kissing Steve ardently and speaking in between slick brushes of tongue. His leg is wrapped around Steve’s waist, pulling him close and keeping him there.

He’s well and truly desperate, no ploy, no exaggeration. His breathy whines aren’t for show. Steve pulls back, smooths the backs of his fingers down Bucky’s cheek. He moves them away, then gently taps them against Bucky’s cheek. Bucky gets the message, eyes going wider, and he turns his head almost imperceptibly, silently offering his cheek. Steve’s breath catches, but he doesn’t take the invitation. Not now. Not yet.

“Do you want it?” he asks. Taps his fingers again, a little harder but nothing like the way that Bucky wants. “Huh? Tell me what you want.”  


“I want it.” Bucky’s voice is hoarse. His eyes are as dark now as they are wide. Lust glazes them but they remain focused, sharp as they follow Steve’s every move. Every inch of Bucky is intent the way they always are when he and Steve do this.

“What do you want?”

“Your cock in my mouth.” Bucky’s eyes flit down, back up. Bites his lip, not trying to be seductive or coy. The tendons in his wrist flex like he wants to bring his hand down as well. “Want you to fuck my mouth ’til I can’t breathe. Sir.”

Steve grabs a handful of Bucky’s hair and pulls, hard. Bucky doesn't react except to let his head be drug back, eyes closing as he whispers, gravel-rough, “ _Please_.”

The way he arches is a thing of beauty: the late-afternoon light paints the wall in slanting tones of faded yellow, casting half of Bucky’s face in shadow. It highlights the arch of his cheekbones, the sculpted hollow of his cheeks. The fanned flutter of his lashes when he closes his eyes.

God. Steve had almost forgotten how _good_ Bucky sounds when he begs. Breathy, a little high-pitched. Every bit _Steve’s_.

Steve lets go of Bucky’s wrist, bringing both his hands to his own belt. The buckle clinks metallically as he starts to undo it. Says, finding back that familiar thread of steel command in his voice, “On your knees.”

Bucky kneels like he’s been dropped, the twin _thunks_ of his knees hitting the hardwood making Steve wince. He pauses in pulling down his zipper, taking Bucky’s chin in his hand and tilting his head up. “You don’t need to hurt yourself,” he scolds gently, squeezing.

Bucky averts his eyes. “Sorry, sir.”

Steve trails his fingers down Bucky’s throat, then brings them back to his zipper. “You’re just eager, aren’t you,” he says. Not a question. He tugs open the flaps of his jeans, pushing the waistband of his underwear snug below his balls. “Such an eager little boy.” He gives himself a perfunctory tug from root to tip and grasps himself just below the head, making sure to ease his foreskin down.

Bucky is watching him like it’s the most fascinating thing he’s ever seen. He wets his lips, swallowing hard, and Steve strokes himself just to watch Bucky’s eyes follow it. “You want this?” he asks, stopping just below the head again, angling his cock down towards Bucky’s mouth. “Tell me, sweetheart.”

“Yes,” Bucky pleads. His hands fist the denim stretched tight across his thighs. It hasn’t been said, but Bucky knows better than to do anything else with them. “Give me your cock, please.”

Steve smiles. “Open wide, then, baby.”

Bucky’s jaw is dropping before Steve even finishes his sentence. His pink tongue curls slightly around his bottom teeth, then rests against his lower lip. In his hand, Steve’s cock twitches. Everything is telling him to push into that warmth, let Bucky’s lips close around him and suck. But Bucky is also just so damn _pretty_ on his knees, and it would be a shame if Steve didn't draw this out.

He touches the head of his cock to the hollow of Bucky’s cheek, blood-flushed skin dark against pale olive. Pre-come strings away, a sticky, gossamer thread that breaks when Steve pulls back. In its place is a small wet spot, gleaming where it catches the light. Bucky shudders, eyes falling shut, throat bobbing in a deep swallow.

Steve is so worked up he can barely think straight; it’s a struggle to quiet the lizard part of his brain, especially once Steve repeats the process on Bucky’s other cheek, then rubs the head of his cock over Bucky’s tongue, his chin.

“Look so beautiful like this,” Steve murmurs, shuddering when Bucky’s tongue curls over the head of his cock, teasing where his foreskin has retracted. “You just want somethin’ to suck on, dontcha, baby?”

Bucky moans.

“Yeah,” Steve coos, stroking over Bucky’s hair. “You just need something in your pretty mouth.” He tugs Bucky’s mouth open wider with his thumb, lets Bucky’s tongue swipe over his finger, and pulls back.

Steve grabs Bucky’s hair, looping it around his fist, and pushes deep. His cock hits the back of Bucky’s throat and Bucky gags, once, eyes squeezing shut, but doesn’t tap out. He closes his lips around Steve’s cock instead, turning his head before pulling back slightly and sinking back down, the outline of Steve’s cock clear against Bucky’s cheek.

Steve swears and starts a rough rhythm. Bucky’s cheeks hollow, eyes opening to meet Steve’s. His eyelashes are spiked with tears, cheeks and chin damp with pre-come and saliva. The sounds he’s making—the muffled choking and the slick, eager slurping as he bobs his head—coil the heat tighter and tighter in Steve’s belly.

“You make such a pretty picture,” Steve says. He flattens his hand to the back of Bucky’s skull. Bucky sinks lower, shutting his eyes against a reflexive gag as he opens his throat until his nose is brushing the hair at the base of Steve’s cock. “God—yeah, that’s it, just like that. What did I ever do to deserve a pretty boy like you, Buck?”

Bucky pulls back with a gasp and a wet _pop_. He’s panting, chin slick, eyes glossy with unshed tears. “Steve,” he croaks, and _damn_ if that rasp doesn't make Steve’s stomach flip pleasantly.

“Yeah, baby?” asks Steve. He traces a line of saliva from the dimple of Bucky’s chin up to his lips with his thumb; immediately Bucky sucks it into his mouth, laving his tongue over the pad. He’s squirming now, hands clenching and relaxing on his thighs. There’s a darker spot at the front of his jeans.

Steve slides his thumb out, grips Bucky’s chin to angle his head up. “You gotta tell me what you want, Buck, or I’m not doin’ a thing.”

Bucky whines. “I’m—please, Stevie. I’m dyin’ here. _Fuck me_.”

Steve’s cock jumps where it’s hanging obscenely from the open flaps of his jeans. Bucky’s eyes follow it hungrily; if he were a dog he’d be drooling right now, Steve knows. Just the thought is enough to have him swallowing a groan. He asks, “You want me to fuck you, little boy?”

“Steve, _goddamn you_ —”

Smooth, Steve slides his hand from Bucky’s chin to his throat, squeezing this time. It makes Bucky’s eyes widen, makes him freeze. This, Steve remembers, was always an effective way to shut Bucky’s trap when he wanted to sass in bed. “Bad boys don't get fucked,” says Steve lightly, pressing his fingers in a little more to watch Bucky’s eyes flutter closed. “They get punished. You remember that, don't you?”

A nod.

“Good.” Steve lets go and steps back. He slips off his shirt, then kicks his shoes and socks off and pulls his jeans down. Bucky doesn't move from his place on the floor, watching with a rapt sort of attention that strokes the side of Steve that he’s only ever had around Bucky. When his underwear joins the pile of his other clothing, Steve barely has to tell Bucky to strip before he’s making quick work of his own clothes. In seconds he’s naked and trembling on the floor, hands still at his thighs, his cock nearly purple with blood-flush.

“Still so good even after all this time,” Steve praises, stroking Bucky’s hair back. “Go into the bedroom and lay facedown on the bed, okay?”

Bucky nods, says a quick “Yes, sir,” and scrambles up and into their bedroom.

Steve waits a few minutes before he follows, trying to calm himself down enough that he won’t come the second he pushes inside Bucky. It’s been too long since they’ve had this kind of sex and Steve’s forgotten the kind of intensity that comes hand-in-hand with it, how everything feels so raw, everything on the table and nothing hidden.

Bucky is still healing: they both are. They’re both men out of time, tourists in a city that they once called home. It’s easier to navigate it with their fingers intertwined, and though sometimes they have to break apart to make room for other people they always find each other, fingers slotting together like there never was a space between them at all.

Bucky’s on the bed when Steve reaches their room, spread out across their burgundy comforter like a magazine centerfold. Steve takes a second to appreciate, leaning against the doorway and crossing his arms over his chest as he commits the sight to memory: how the late afternoon light slants differently in here, falling low over Bucky’s body; how it catches on the metal arm where it and his flesh arm rest above his head, cybernetic fingers curled over the delicate bones of his other wrist. Bucky’s eyes are closed but his body is alert.

Steve pushes off the doorframe and crosses the room. “You want a rubber, or no?”

Bucky shakes his head, hair falling down over his face.

Steve opens the nightstand drawer, takes out the bottle of lube, smiles. “You always did like it messy.”

Bucky shudders.

The drawer closes, the bed dips. Steve pushes Bucky’s legs open and Bucky goes willingly, a blind trust that makes Steve’s heart ache and then sing. “So beautiful,” Steve murmurs, spreading Bucky’s cheeks with his thumbs, exposing the vulnerable, intimate furl of muscle at the center.

Under his hands Bucky squirms. “Not beautiful,” he mumbles.

Steve lightly slaps his ass, twisting to reach for the lube. “Every part of you is beautiful, you jerk. Stop ruining the mood.”

Bucky hides his face, but Steve caught the grin anyway. Before he squeezes the lube onto his fingers he runs his hands down Bucky’s back, from the impressive breadth of his shoulders down to the firm small of his back, the dimples above the tight swell of his ass. There are scars everywhere, faint but noticeable in the evening light. Exit wounds, entry wounds, knife scars, burn scars. Bucky can heal, but not as well as Steve can.

Bending down, Steve presses a kiss to an exit wound just under Bucky’s shoulder blade, then traces his tongue along the silvery slash of a knife scar. Bucky’s body tenses again, then relaxes; he hums, tuneless, and covers his face with his metal arm.

“You okay?” asks Steve, straightening back up and rubbing the dimples of Bucky’s back with his thumbs.

A moment passes, then Bucky nods, voices, “Yeah, ‘m good. Promise.” He wriggles, raising his hips slightly. “You gonna finger me or what, punk?”

Steve laughs, coats his fingers and rubs them together. “Yeah, yeah. So fuckin’ bossy.” He spreads Bucky’s thighs a little wider, then runs his dry fingers along the crease of Bucky’s ass until he gets a shaky moan. With his slick index finger he traces the wrinkle of muscle, pressing with a little more pressure on each circle until he slips in. Bucky’s immediately pushing back with a grunt. “You know,” Steve muses, slowly working his finger in and out, “there’s a term for people like you.”

Bucky _hmm_ s, turns his head and cracks open an eye to look at Steve. “That so?”

Steve nods, sliding his finger out and adding his middle finger. Christ. Bucky is so tight. “Sure is.” He says no more, instead working on opening Bucky up by scissoring his fingers and crooking them. He knows the silence will drive Bucky insane, and he bites the inside of his cheek to keep from smiling.

Finally, Bucky huffs, right on cue. “Well, you gonna tell me or what?”

Steve adds a third finger before he does, waiting until after Bucky’s finished swearing in German to say, “A bossy bottom.”

Silence, and then—

Bucky bursts out laughing, loud, shaking bursts of it that rattle the mattress and reverberate around Steve’s fingers. “You’re shitting me. That can’t be a term.” He raises up onto his forearms, and when he looks back his eyes are crinkled in joy, and Steve’s sure his heart has grown three sizes more.

“It most definitely is,” he says conversationally, pleased at the hitch in Bucky’s breath when he spreads his fingers, twists his wrist, rubs his thumb over Bucky’s perineum.

Bucky digs his knees where they’re spread around Steve’s thighs and pushes back. “This century is weird.”

“Yeah, but at least we can buy dildos,” says Steve, pulling his fingers out and reaching for the bottle to coat his cock. Bucky twists as much as he can, watching hungrily. Steve taps Bucky’s hip. “Up. Hands and knees, now.”

Bucky goes, smooth and sinuous, and Steve raises up onto his knees, strokes himself a few times, and pushes in without warning.

“ _Fuck_ —” Bucky yelps, dropping to his forearms, when Steve's balls are flush against his.

Steve fucks in, pulls out, and slaps Bucky’s ass. There’s enough force behind it that the crack is as loud as a gunshot, and immediately the skin begins to color as Bucky wails, bitten off when he sinks his teeth into the pillow under him.

Steve does it again, right over the red blossom on Bucky’s cheek, the very tips of his fingers striking over the used puffiness of Bucky’s hole. This time Bucky squeals, jerking forward before pushing back and raising his ass in a silent plea. “Oh, shit—”

“Jesus God Almighty,” Steve swears, grabbing Bucky’s hips roughly. He steadies the sway of his cock and pushes deep, fucking Bucky the way he’d been begging for: hard and rough, headboard slamming off the wall and Bucky’s back-of-the-throat noises getting higher.

“Yeah,” Bucky gasps, scrabbling at the sheets, pushing back, their skin clapping together. “Yeah, fuck, _god_ , babydoll, _yes_. Give it to me harder, please, please, need it, Stevie, need your cock in me deep.”

“Yeah?” Steve watches the sweetheart curve of Bucky’s ass, the slide of his cock in and out of Bucky’s hole. “How bad you want it, Buck?”

“I’ll do—Jesus _wept_ , I’ll do anythin’. _Please_.”

Steve bends over him, still snapping his hips forward hard enough to bruises and curls his hand around Bucky’s throat. Bucky’s adam’s apple bobs against the curve of his palm.

“You feel so good,” Steve pants. He slides his hand lower, over the race of Bucky’s heart. “I know I say this every time but it don't make it any less true.”

“ _Stevie_ —” Bucky croaks, dropping his head.

“I just love you so fuckin’ much,” continues Steve. “I don’t—I can’t even tell you how much, Buck, ‘cause it don't have words. That’s how much.”

Bucky grabs at the sheets again as Steve snaps his hips forward hard. The sound of rendering fabric fills the air, Bucky’s metal fist clutched around a handful of burgundy sheets, a choked-off moan caught behind his teeth.

“I love you,” Bucky whines, letting go of the fabric to grip at the mattress itself. He starts to meet every one of Steve’s thrusts, their balls slapping together, Steve’s other hand clutched tight to Bucky’s hip. “Oh, god, Steve, I love you, I’m gonna come—”

The hand on Bucky’s hip slips under, curving around the straining length of him. Bucky jerks his hips forward, breathes out, “Yeah, _yeah_ ,” as Steve grips him tight, pumping his fist in time with his hips. Bucky staggers back onto his hands, arching his body.

Steve moves back, presses a kiss to the space between the jut of Bucky’s shoulder blades. “Come on, up,” he coaxes, pulling Bucky into a kneeling position with him. Bucky’s metal hand immediately comes to Steve’s face, turning him so Bucky can kiss him, wet and deep. “Good boy,” Steve murmurs, pressing a kiss to Bucky’s sweat-damp temple.

In Steve’s fist Bucky’s cock is the kind of purple that means he’s close, and the straining tension in his thighs underscores it. Steve curves his hand around Bucky’s side, down to his waist, worries the lobe of Bucky’s ear between his teeth. A hitched breath, a twist of his wrist at the slick head of Bucky’s cock, a new angle to press just right at Bucky’s prostate, and Bucky is coming, jerking uncontrollably under Steve’s hands, with a high, whimpering moan that’s part wordless, part Steve’s name and expletives in more than one language.

“That’s it,” Steve praises, jerking Bucky through it, the warm slickness of his come squelching under Steve’s grip. ”That’s it, baby, Christ. You look so pretty when you come for me.”

Bucky shudders, full body, and pulls Steve in for a kiss again, as wet and obscene as the slowing motion of Steve’s hand. Steve comes a few thrusts later, forehead pressed against the metal curve of Bucky’s shoulder.

After a moment Steve comes back to himself, body feeling heavy. “Oh my god,” he says eloquently.

Bucky laughs, covering Steve’s hand with his own on his belly. “Understatement of the year, I think.”

Steve kisses Bucky’s shoulder, then his neck. Gently he eases Bucky back onto all fours, then slowly pulls out, chewing on his lower lip at the rush of too-sharp arousal the slow leak of come from Bucky’s hole brings.

Like he knows what Steve’s thinking Bucky wriggles his ass, sliding his thighs together and raising up slightly. “See somethin’ you like, fella?”

Steve lightly slaps one of the fading red marks on Bucky’s ass. “I feel like you weren't this much of a brat last century.”

“Yeah, well, last century I was gettin’ laid on the regular.” Bucky’s breath hitches when Steve eases his thumb inside him, tugging him open. “Jesus, Stevie.”

“Push out,” Steve orders, and Bucky does, sending a fresh slide of come trickling down Steve’s thumb, over his balls. “Well. Fuck.”

Bucky laughs, soft, says, “Can I clean up now, or are you gonna lick it out of me?”

“Mm.” With his middle and index fingers Steve gathers up what’s leaked out and brings it to his mouth.

Bucky watches over his shoulder, groaning. “Now you’re just actively tryna kill me.”

Steve grins, gently flipping Bucky onto his back. He crawls over him, bending to press their lips together. Bucky’s hand goes to the nape of Steve’s neck immediately as he tilts his head, brushing their noses together.

“Shower,” Steve says between kisses. “Then maybe food. Or more sex. I’m not sure which is more important yet.”

Bucky laughs again, grinning wide. There’s nothing but love in his eyes, so vast that its enormity is almost unfathomable, even to Steve. He touches Steve’s cheek, a lover’s touch, and Steve turns to kiss the vulnerable inside of Bucky’s wrist.

“I think both,” he says.

**Author's Note:**

> tumblr is [here](https://endofadream.tumblr.com) and instagram is [here](https://instagram.com/wintersoldiered), if you’re into that sort of thing! reviews are always so lovely <3


End file.
